Chapter Text
Seven years ago
The first time they met, the galaxy was on the edge of an abyss.
In her office, Padmé Amidala adjusted the folds of her senatorial gown for a fifth time as she paced the length of the room, the bright lights of Coruscant’s skyline casting long shadows on the walls. Whispers of conspiracy had grown louder with each passing week— alliances shifting, deals made in the dark and the Jedi’s once pristine image tarnished by doubt. The Republic was crumbling, and with it her belief that diplomacy could mediate the fractures.
When the doors slid open, she expected to see another weary staff member with more dire reports. Instead, a man stepped inside, his frame imposing, yet strangely familiar. She recognized the dark clothing of a Senate guard but it was his face that caught her attention. He looked young, almost too young for his rank, with short, messy hair but a sharp jawline and blue eyes that screamed determination.
The soft thuds of his boots were muted by the carpet as he crossed the room, his movements deliberate and assured. When he stopped a few paces away, he inclined his head slightly in respect.
"Senator Amidala,” he said, his voice warm and calm, yet measured. "I’m Anakin Skywalker, assigned to your protection.”
Padmé raised an eyebrow. "Since when does the Senate employ personal guards?"
"Since the threats against certain senators became… creative,” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Her brows arched. "Creative?”
He straightened slightly, his expression becoming more measured. "Assassinations aren’t what they used to be. Subtlety is the new weapon of choice.”
Despite herself, a flicker of amusement danced at the edge of her lips. She suppressed it quickly. "I wasn’t informed of this arrangement.”
"I requested the assignment,” Anakin admitted, his tone matter-of-fact, as though it required no further explanation.
Still, Padmé’s skepticism deepened. "Why?”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. "Because the galaxy can’t afford to lose you,” he said simply.
The words struck her like a blaster bolt. She wasn’t sure if it was the certainty in his voice, or the sincerity in his gaze, but for the first time in days, she felt the smallest flicker of… reassurance.
The days that followed blurred into a relentless cycle of meetings and emergencies. Anakin was always there—silent and watchful, never bothering her but always right there the second she felt the need to talk to someone… normal. Somehow, during those days, he became the only constant in her life and over time, she forgot why she was even wary of him in the first place.
The affair began almost by accident.
Really, it wasn’t Padmé’s fault—she didn’t intend to invite him over to her apartment. It just kind of… happened.
The night had been unrelenting, another endless Senate session, filled with accusations and doubts. The weight of the Republic’s impending collapse had never felt heavier. Padmé tried to hold it all together, to maintain her composure as the galaxy watched, but by the time the session was over, she was exhausted—physically, emotionally, and mentally.
Anakin waited outside the chamber, as he always did, his presence steady and unyielding. She paused, looking at him for a moment longer than usual. He was quiet, offering her no words of comfort but meeting her gaze with something she could only describe as understanding.
When they reached her apartment, she hesitated at the door. The smart thing would have been to bid him goodnight, let him return to whatever quarters the Senate had provided for him. Instead, she turned to him and said, "Would you like to come in?”
The words left her lips before she had time to second-guess them.
Anakin blinked, clearly surprised, but he nodded. "If you’d like me to.”
She made them tea that went cold as they talked. Anakin was different in the dimmed light of her apartment. Less guarded. More human. He told her about his mother, about growing up on Tatooine, about his early talent of fixing droids. When he kissed her, it was as though the galaxy itself stilled.
But Padmé should’ve known that peace would not last long.
When the Jedi Temple burned, Anakin was there, standing barefoot in her living room, his jaw slack as he watched the fire on the horizon through Padmé’s window.
She had never seen him so unguarded.
"I need to go,” he said suddenly, his voice taut.
"Go?” Padmé asked, her own shock pinning her to the spot.
He was already moving, grabbing his boots and shirt in a flurry of motion. "I—I’ll explain later,” he stammered. And then he was gone.
She barely noticed. Her focus was on the screen, on the fire consuming the sacred halls of the Jedi, the cries of panic and betrayal reverberating across the galaxy. They said it was a battalion of clones, a catastrophic failure of control that led to chaos. With no leader at the helm, the attack was erratic, leaving behind not just destruction but disarray. The survivors outnumbered what anyone would have expected from such an assault. Yet something about the story felt hollow, like a puzzle with pieces missing.
The next morning, Anakin didn’t return.
She found out she was pregnant weeks later, during the first grand speech of the Emperor. Palpatine’s voice, oily and reassuring, filled every corner of her apartment as she clutched the test results in trembling hands.
Her mind raced. Anakin. She had to tell him.
Then the camera panned to the Emperor’s side.
There he was, standing in black, a few steps behind Palpatine, his expression cold and unreadable.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Suddenly, the quiet moments they had shared seemed like a cruel mirage. This man, standing with the enemy, could not be the same person who had held her in the dark.
She turned off the holofeed and sank into a chair.
No. She couldn’t raise her child with someone who stood with the Empire. Not when she had already begun assembling the threads of rebellion, whispers shared among the disillusioned.
Padmé Amidala had always been a fighter.
She knew her name carried weight, even now, in the fractured remnants of the Republic. She was careful, moving quietly, meeting with those she trusted in the dimly lit back rooms of Coruscant’s underbelly. The galaxy was still reeling from the shock of the Jedi purge and the rise of the Empire, but amidst the fear, there was anger.
And anger was a powerful tool.
The first person she met with was Mon. The Chandrilan senator had always been a voice of reason in the Senate, but now her tone was sharper, her words laced with the determination of someone ready to act.
"We can’t let this stand,” Mon said, her hands gripping a datapad. "The people are scared, but they’re not blind. If we show them that there’s still hope—still resistance—they’ll follow.”
Padmé nodded, her mind already spinning. "We need to be careful. One misstep and the Empire will crush us before we begin."
Mon leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You’ll need to keep your distance. Your name is too well-known. Too many eyes will be on you."
Padmé’s lips thinned. She knew Mon was right, but it didn’t make it easier. She had spent her entire life at the forefront of causes she believed in. Now, she would have to work in the shadows.
The rebellion’s earliest operations were small—smuggling supplies to systems suffering under the Empire’s new restrictions, rescuing survivors of the Jedi purge and spreading messages of defiance through encrypted channels.
Padmé worked tirelessly, securing safe houses and gathering allies. But the hardest part was balancing her growing responsibilities with the reality of her pregnancy.
She told no one at first, not even Mon. The rebellion couldn’t afford distractions, and she refused to be seen as a liability. But as the months passed, her secret became harder to hide.
One night, as she steadied herself on her desk for just a second to long after standing up, she could feel Bail Organa’s suspicious eyes on her.
"Padmé," he said softly, his brow furrowing as he looked at her. "You’re not well."
She met his gaze, hesitating. Bail was one of her closest allies, someone she trusted without doubt. So, finally, she sighed and placed a hand on her stomach.
"I’m fine," she said. "I—"
She didn’t have to finish her sentence, didn’t have to say the words outright for Bail to understand. Not when his eyes follow her gesture, his eyes widening in understanding. "Does Mon know?"
"No," Padmé said firmly. "And she won’t—not yet. The rebellion is more important than my personal life."
"Padmé," Bail said, his voice gentle, full of concern. "The rebellion is your life. And if you’re bringing a child into this galaxy, they deserve to inherit a future worth fighting for."
Her throat tightened a little, her eyes stinging. Padmé turned away, blinking rapidly, willing herself not to tear up. "Then let’s make sure we win."
Five years ago
The second time that Padmé Amidala saw Anakin Skywalker, it was in the Imperial Senate, a place that no longer felt like her own.
She was careful not to let recognition flicker across her face as he approached, his black uniform a stark contrast to the polished marble of the chamber. The man she had once known was still there—the curls, the piercing blue eyes—but the warmth he once carried, the warmth he had looked at her with, late at night was gone.
"Senator Amidala," he said, his tone formal, though his gaze lingered just a moment too long. Her breath caught in her throat. Her mind screamed a thousand possibilities, each one worse than the last. Did he know? Did Palpatine know? Her chest tightened as she fought to suppress the rising panic. "It’s been a while."
"Not long enough," she said coolly, folding her hands in front of her to keep them from trembling. "To what do I owe the honor?”
"I’m here on behalf of the Emperor."
Of course he was. Even though the words twist her stomach, she had to hold in a sigh of relief. He was not here for the twins. Her children—their children—who were turning two in a few months, hidden away on Alderaan under Bail and Breha’s care, safe, far from the shadow of the Empire. Safe from him.
He didn’t know.
"There have been reports of unrest in your sector. Palpatine wants assurances that the Naboo delegation remains loyal to the Empire."
"Loyalty," Padmé repeated, a sharp smile forming on her lips. She can practically hear Bail, screaming in the back of her mind not to pick a fight. Still— "An interesting choice of words, considering the circumstances."
Anakin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to her bait. Instead, he took a deliberate step closer, making her breath hitch. "The Emperor values stability, Senator. He expects unwavering commitment from those who serve in his name."
"And yet," she replied, her voice calm but laced with defiance, "true stability cannot be built on fear."
The words hung in the air, sharp as a blade, and she felt Anakin’s gaze harden. His eyes narrowed as he regarded her, and for a moment, she feared she had gone too far.
And yet—
She caught the briefest flicker in his eyes, a shadow of vulnerability, a small crack in his composure, that told her everything she needed to know.
He wouldn’t hurt me. Not like this.
For a long moment, Anakin didn’t speak. The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable, but it was she who broke it.
"Rest assured," she said, taking a step back. "Naboo is as committed to the Emperor’s vision as ever."
He studied her for a moment, his gaze searching. And then he nodded, though a flicker of doubt in his eyes sent a chill down her spine.
"Good. For your sake, I hope that remains true."
Two years ago
It was late when Padmé saw him again, in the shadows of a landing bay on a backwater world. She was there on rebellion business, delivering supplies and information to a fledgling resistance cell.
Anakin’s presence was a surprise—though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. He was everywhere these days, carrying out missions for the Emperor. She should hide from him, make sure he didn’t see her. He would know exactly what she was here for but for some reason, her legs didn’t move. Instead, she stood there, frozen.
"Padmé," he said, coming to stand next to her, shoulders squared but his voice was softer than she expected, almost pleading. She didn’t reply, just kept looking ahead.
"Do we really have to do this?" he asked, his voice low. "Pretend we’re strangers? You know as well as I do that we’re not."
Her heart ached at the words, but she forced herself to stand firm. Whatever this new approach was, she wouldn’t let it work on her. Not when so much was at stake. "Whatever we were, Anakin, it’s in the past."
"It doesn’t have to be," he said, stepping closer. His gloved hand reached out as if to touch hers, but he stopped short. "You know it doesn’t"
She shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I can’t. Not with you. Not when…"
"Not when what?" he pressed.
"Not when you’ve chosen your side," she hissed, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. His gaze didn’t falter. There was no flash of anger, no immediate defense. He simply looked at her, and there was something about his stare—something almost resigned, like he had been expecting this for a long time. He was not surprised.
She left before he could say anything else. And prayed he would not betray her, now that she had openly admitted to fighting for the other side. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t.
One year ago
The next time they met, it was in a secluded corner of Coruscant, under the guise of a chance encounter.
"Padmé," Anakin greeted her.
"Anakin," she replied, cautiously, her gaze darting around to ensure they were alone.
He gestured to the empty bench beside her. "May I?"
She nodded, as wary about his intentions as she was when he reached out to her, wanting to talk. For a moment they sat in silence. The city buzzed faintly in the background, but it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
Finally, he broke the quiet, his voice even, but there was something underneath it—something darker, more urgent. "There’s talk," he said, his tone neutral, but Padmé could sense the heaviness in his words. "More talk of the rebellion. It’s not just… scattered groups anymore."
Padmé stiffened but her expression remained calm. "The galaxy has always had its fair share of resistance."
"True," he admitted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But this feels different. Organized."
Padmé tilted her head, feigning ignorance. "And you think I have something to do with it?"
"I think you’re a lot of things." Anakin’s lips twitched slightly, almost like a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "A senator. A fighter. Someone who doesn’t give up easily."
Her heart pounded, but she forced a small, amused smile. "Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Anakin."
"Neither will lying," he countered, his gaze piercing.
For a moment, she thought he might push further, demand answers she wasn’t ready to give. But instead he leaned back, his expression unreadable.
"Just be careful." His voice has dropped to a whisper.
Padmé’s breath caught in her throat at his words. She met his gaze, trying to decipher the meaning behind them. There was no anger in his eyes, no accusation. Just a quiet understanding. And for some reason, that unsettled her more than anything.
He wasn’t threatening her. He wasn’t even warning her in the usual sense. It was something more complicated, more layered. Like he was still… protecting her. He knew. She knew he knew.
And yet, he had let her go. Again.
Now
Padmé has been nursing the same drink for a little over an hour, now sitting in front of her, half finished and warm. She ordered it, mainly because it felt like the easiest way to blend in, but can’t bring herself to take more than a few sips. The bitter taste of it still lingers on her tongue and she can’t wait to get back and rinse out her mouth and move on from this. But here she is, still waiting.
Her contact is late. Her contact who had promised to meet her here. They had information—something vital—but as the minutes stretched into hours, Padmé felt a cold pit of doubt settling in her stomach. Still, she can’t leave. Not when there’s still a chance they will show up.
They need this information, need this hope. They lost so much today. The mission to retrieve the Death Star plans cost the rebellion dearly. Good men and women—friends—lost their lives. For nothing. The plans—vital, necessary, a key to turning the tide—slipped through their fingers, their efforts in vain. Padmé knows that the rebellion had always been a fragile thing, but this loss feels different. It feels personal.
Her fingers drum lightly on the edge of the table, her anxiety growing with each passing second. She doesn’t even notice him until he is at her side.
"Padmé."
The voice is familiar, smooth and low, sending a jolt through her. She turns her head sharply and there he is—Anakin Skywalker, dressed in nondescript black, his eyes glinting in the low light.
She stares at him in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"
His lips twitch. "I could ask you the same."
Her hand clenches around her glass. "If you’re here to deliver another veiled threat on behalf of the Empire, don’t bother."
He leans closer, his presence overwhelming in the small space. "I’m not here on Imperial business," he says softly. "And I think we both know there’s more to us than that."
Padmé’s breath catches in her throat. She tries pushing the feeling aside, there’s just something about the way he stands there, so close. She can’t seem to shake the memory of how it used to feel—his touch, his voice. Her chest tightens as old feelings threaten to surface, but she forces them back, shoving them deep where they can’t affect her. Not now. "There’s nothing between us, Anakin. Not anymore.”
"Then why are you shaking?" he asks, his voice dropping into something more intimate. She hates how well he can read her.
"Don’t flatter yourself," she says, though the words come out weaker than she intended.
"You’re hurting," he says, his tone surprisingly gentle.
Her jaws tightens. "What would you know about it?"
"A lot more than you think." His blue eyes lock onto hers and for a moment, there’s something raw in his expression. "Padmé… I’m sorry for whatever you’ve lost. Truly."
"Why are you here, Anakin?" she asks finally, exhaustion slipping into her voice.
"Because I wanted to see you."
Padmé blinks, the weight of his words sinking in. Her heart stutters for a moment, disbelief washing over her. The sudden realization hits her like a wave: Anakin—the man she had tried so hard to forget, the man she thought she could never trust again—was her contact. How else would he know exactly where to find her. He set this meeting up.
"You… you’re my contact?” she repeats out loud, the disbelief obvious in her voice.
He nods, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but his eyes remain fixed on hers, intense and steady. "I am.”
A small, disbelieving laugh slips through her lips. She doesn’t have time for this—whatever this is. She wants to tell him to leave, to walk away and never come back, to stop wasting her time but the words won’t come. Instead, she whispers, "You shouldn’t be here."
"Maybe not," he says, seems to hesitate for a moment, then adds, "I have a room upstairs."
She freezes, the weight of his words settling over her. Her mind screams at her to say no, to push him away, to remind herself of everything he stands for. But she’s tired—so tired of fighting, of holding herself together, of carrying the weight of the rebellion and her grief alone.
For just one night, she wants to forget.
She looks up at him, her decision made before she can think better of it. "Lead the way."